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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958013">Civil War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mike24455/pseuds/Mike24455'>Mike24455</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Peter Parker, Civil War Fix-It, Civil War Team Captain America, Civil War Team Iron Man, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:48:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mike24455/pseuds/Mike24455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A mix of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and Marvel comics when it comes to the Civil War. Team Iron Man will pretty much be the same plus some additional characters the same goes for Team Cap.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harley Keener/Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Funeral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys, so this story takes place after the events of the Stanford bombing you can watch a little bit of hit here for background https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXvgak7MPIs</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Things are about to happen fast, Peter. I’m glad you’re with me.”</p><p>         </p><p>“Things. Like the Superhuman Registration Act.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Not many people have heard that phrase yet.” </p><p> </p><p>“But it’s why you’re going to Washington next week, right?”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Tonight, actually. The Committee has moved up their timetable, in light of...” He gestured around, taking in the church and the mourners. “The president has asked to meet with me this evening, and the hearings take place tomorrow.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“What would it mean? This Act?”         </p><p>         </p><p>“All metahumans would be required to undergo registration and training in order to practice their... their gifts in public. It also gives the government extremely broad powers of enforcement. Broader, even, than anything the Senate was considering before.”                           </p><p> </p><p>“And you support it?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“It’s a tricky piece of legislation.” Tony frowned. “If it’s enacted into law, it would have to be administered with great wisdom. Great care.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tony Stark?”         </p><p>         </p><p>Tony whirled around—just in time for a stream of spittle to strike him in the face. “You filthy piece of crap!”</p><p>                           </p><p>The woman was crying openly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Peter moved to restrain her, but Tony held out a hand.</p><p>                         </p><p>Happy Hogan was already behind the woman. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He laid a meaty hand on her shoulder.</p><p>                        </p><p>“Leave what? My own son’s funeral?” She shrugged him off angrily, turned to point at Tony. “He’s the one you should be dragging away.”</p><p>                          </p><p>Tony grimaced, wiped his face dry. “Ma’am, I appreciate that you’re upset. But the New Warriors’... tragic actions...had nothing to do with me.”</p><p>                 </p><p>“Oh yeah? Who finances the Avengers? Who’s been telling kids for years that they can live outside the law, as long as they’re wearing tights?”</p><p>         </p><p>Peter Parker cleared his throat. “I, uh, don’t think Mister Stark says that.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Cops have to train and carry badges,” the woman continued, “but that’s too boring for Tony Stark. All you need are some powers and a badass attitude, and bang! You’ve got a place in Joe Billionaire’s private super-gang.”</p><p> </p><p>Tony opened his mouth to speak, and then something happened that had only happened once before. His mind went utterly, completely blank.</p><p>                          </p><p>She’s right, he realized.</p><p>                          </p><p>Happy reached for the woman again. She shrank away from him, doubling over with a piercing wail of sorrow. A crowd was gathering now, watching with hostile eyes.</p><p>                          </p><p>“Mike left me,” the woman sobbed. “When they took away his pension, he just...he couldn’t take the pressure. All I had left was my little Jack. And now...and now...”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Hap,” Tony said, “Let’s go.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“You, Stark.” The woman straightened, stabbed a finger out at Tony’s retreating form.           </p><p>“You fund this sickness. With your billions. My Jack’s blood is—it’s on your hands. Now, now and forever.”</p><p>                          </p><p>Tony strode toward the limo, flanked by Happy and Peter. A thousand eyes followed them, glaring in judgment.</p><p>                          </p><p>“Well, that was fun.” Peter grimaced. “And only a little scary.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“They’re the scared ones,” Tony said. “All of them. They grew up thinking they’d have jobs, pensions, a few bucks to spend in their old age. Now they’re terrified. Can you blame them?”</p><p>                          </p><p>“Maybe you could give them ‘a few bucks.’”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Maybe I can do more than that.” Happy yanked open the limo door, and Tony stepped inside. He paused for a moment, fixed his gaze on Peter’s questioning eyes. “I can make them safe.”</p><p>                         </p><p>Peter nodded slowly.</p><p>                 </p><p>He knows, Tony thought. He understands.</p><p>                 </p><p>The door slammed shut, and suddenly Tony was alone. Alone in the dark quiet limo, walled off by metal and glass from the sea of grief outside. Just a billionaire and his private thoughts, dark and heavy.        </p><p>            </p><p>Happy slid around to the front, slipped behind the wheel. “Home, boss?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Straight to the airport, Hap.” Tony peered out the tinted window at the dark-suited mourners. “I know what I have to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey boss, Incoming call from encrypted S.H.I.E.L.D number.” </p><p> </p><p>“That’s probably Harley, put him through,” Happy transferred the phone call to the back of the limousine and then rolled up the partition to give Tony privacy. “Hey kid, how’s it going.” He knew better than to ask where Harley was when he called from this kind of number.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey dad, I’m good. Just calling to let you know I’ll be back in two weeks turns out they didn’t need me for the full month. By the way Bucky says hello.” a gruff grunt can be heard in the background. </p><p> </p><p>Tony and Buky Barnes weren’t on necessarily bad terms, but the elder stark did resent the fact that when Harley had joined S.H.I.E.L.D the former winter soldier had made it a point to take Harley under his wing. Steve had vouched for the man, and he trusted Steve. But if Bucky wanted a kid he should have one on his own and not try and steal Tony’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell him I said, keep that arm oiled up, don’t need it getting rusted.” That drew a snort of muffled laughter from his son.</p><p> </p><p>“How was the funeral, sorry I couldn't go with you but I watched a little from here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sad, as expected but I’m glad you called. Got chewed out by one of the parents towards the end so we decided to leave early, they clearly didn’t want us there.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure whatever she said, she didn’t mean. You’ve spent your life keeping people safe, one incident that you had nothing to do with shouldn't ruin all the years you and Cap have put into the Avengers.” Harley said with all the passion of a son defending his father.</p><p> </p><p>“I know but just that dead look in her eyes...made me think about if something happened to you...would I you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Listen old man nothing is going to happen to me, this mission isn’t even dangerous, we're just investigating some black market sales. I can guarantee that I’ll be back safe and unharmed, ready to make your life interesting again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks Harls.”</p><p> </p><p>“Peter looked nice, all dressed up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Harley don’t tell me the only reason that you watched the service was so you could see Peter in a suit.” </p><p>“Oh don’t tell me that isn’t something a younger you wouldn't have done,” Well Harley did have him there. “He was definitely giving off Christian Grey vibes, but I mainly watched to give you guys moral support.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have I mentioned before, how uncomfortable you guess flirting makes me, I mean I raised you I remember what you looked like as an asshole baby that would pee on however changed you, now you’ve grown up into a deviant.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hardly,” there was some shuffling in the background, muffled voices. “I’m gonna have to call you back, got eyes on some badies. Love you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Love you too, and Harls...just stay safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Copy that.” and then he was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fracture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spider-Man swung over the crowd, as swiftly as he could manage. A few people pointed, and the chants stopped. The crowd grew silent for a moment, as though confused.</p><p>                           </p><p>Great, he thought. Doesn’t anybody recognize me in the new threads?</p><p>                  </p><p>Then a low rumble rose up, followed by a barrage of boos and whistles. A rock flew past Spidey’s head; he dodged it easily, spider-sense kicking in automatically. Thena tomato.</p><p>                           </p><p>He let go of his webline and spread his arms wide. He felt a moment of panic; he'd only used the costume’s gliding mechanism once before, and he really didn’t want to plummet face-first into that angry mob. But at a certain point, he reflected, you had to trust something.</p><p>                           </p><p>Or someone. Tony Stark, in this case.</p><p>                           </p><p>Then Spider-Man was soaring, almost flying through the air. He reached out and made contact with the outer wall of the Baxter Building, then scuttled upward like his namesake, circling around the building to avoid the huge vehicle hangar doors on the top levels. Below, the crowd’s booing seemed to fade like a bad dream.</p><p> </p><p>At the second level from the top, he spotted a concealed doorway built right into the brick facing. He started to reach for it—</p><p>                </p><p>“Hey Pete.”</p><p>                  </p><p>Natasha Romanov, the Russian super-spy called the Black Widow, sat casually on a ledge,gorgeous as always in tight black leather. She was eating a salad from a takeout container. She also was one of the three people to have trained his boyfriend.</p><p>                          </p><p>“Nat,” Spider-Man said. “What—how did you get here?”</p><p>             </p><p>She turned, gave him a withering look. “You’re not the only person who can climb buildings.”        </p><p>      </p><p>“What are you doing?”         </p><p>         </p><p>“Waiting for you.” She stood, stretched precariously on the ledge. Spidey started to reach for her; the street was forty storiesbelow. Natasha didn’t seem concerned.                  </p><p>         </p><p>“I just flew in from a mission,” she continued. “Tony was kind enough to tell me about the gathering, but apparently Reed Richards didn’t get the message. I wasn't on the approved list at the door.” She gestured down at the crowd, now distant dots of color. “And security is a bit tight today.”</p><p>       </p><p>“So you just...”</p><p> </p><p>“Waited for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Spidey paused, digested this a moment. Then he shrugged and turned back to the hidden doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny Storm gave me access to this,” he said.</p><p>                           </p><p>“Word of advice, don't tell that to Harley." She joked.</p><p>                </p><p>At Spider-Man’s touch, the doorway glowed. The word AUTHENTICATING appeared, holographically superimposed over the bricks; then AUTHORIZED. The hatch swung inward.</p><p>                           </p><p>A quick crawl through an air duct, and they dropped down into a corridor near the Fantastic Four main operational center.</p><p>                          </p><p>“So are you here as an Avenger?” Spider-Man asked. “Or representing S.H.I.E.L.D.?”</p><p>                  </p><p>The Widow shrugged, as if the question had no meaning.</p><p>                  </p><p>Reed Richards’s laboratory was huge, windowless, high-ceilinged, and utterly packed with scientific equipment. Particle beam microscopes, giant lasers, alien spaceships laid out like frogs ready to be dissected. Supercomputers, latest systems, all custom-networked together in a tangled system that only Reed’s incredible brain could understand. Johnny Storm had once observed to Spidey that, if anything ever happened to Reed, nobody would even be able to toast a slice of bread in this lab, ever again.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed an odd place for the biggest gathering of super heroes ever assembled. But Spider-Man quickly realized: It was the only room in the Baxter Building large enough.</p><p>                           </p><p>Hawkeye, Goliath, the Falcon, Scarlet Witch, and Ms. Marvel stood together, talking intensely. These, Peter realized, were the core Avengers, the nexus of Tony’s premier superhero team. Hawkeye gestured wildly, nearly banging into one of Reed’s big electronic devices. A time machine, maybe.</p><p>                          </p><p>Luke Cage stood apart, in street clothes and dark shades, speaking in low tones with Johnny Storm. Spider-Woman, the red-and-yellow-clad masked Avenger, stood alone in the group, tapping at her phone. The Young Avengers—Hulkling, Patriot, Wiccan, Stature, and Speed—seemed to huddle together, eyeing the older heroes suspiciously.</p><p>                          </p><p>Dagger, a willowy young girl with light powers, danced around the room, flitting excitedly from one of Reed’s machines to the next. Reed stood in the back, his neck stretched out like a ten foot snake. His head bobbed back and forth, following Dagger’s path. Every time she touched something, he winced.</p><p> </p><p>Spider-Man felt a stab of claustrophobia. Here, among all his fellow heroes, he felt somehow, paradoxically, exposed. Vulnerable.</p><p>                           </p><p>You’re an Avenger, he reminded himself.</p><p>                  </p><p>He spotted Daredevil over in a corner, talking in soft low tones with the green-skinned She-Hulk. Get two lawyers together, he thought...they were probably deep into the legal implications of the Superhuman Registration Act by now.</p><p>                                                  </p><p>Ben Grimm, the Thing, clapped a hand on Spider-Man’s back—not too hard; Ben had learned not to cripple ordinary people with friendly gestures. “Hey, Spidey. Glad ya came.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Ben.”</p><p>       </p><p>Spidey leaned against an intricate machine, a latticework of glass and metal. Ben frowned. “You better not touch that.”</p><p>                          </p><p>“Oh, sorry. Reed’ll get mad?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Worse. He’ll spend twenty minutes tellin’ you what it does.”</p><p> </p><p>Spidey followed Ben’s gaze. Across the room, Reed was gesturing expansively with elongated arms, explaining something to a clearly confused Dagger. Cloak, her partner, had joined her. He seemed equally befuddled.                          </p><p>                  </p><p>“Any news about the Registration Act yet?</p><p>                  </p><p>“Not yet.” Ben gestured up at a huge wallscreen tuned to CNN. The sound was muted, but a graphic read: BREAKING NEWS – SENATE IN CLOSED SESSION ON SRA. “Should be any minute.”</p><p>                          </p><p>Ms. Marvel glided over to join them, tall and statuesque in blue and red. The other Avengers followed in her wake. “Tony’s been incommunicado all day,” she said to Spider-Man.</p><p>            </p><p>“We were just wondering if you’ve heard from him.” </p><p> </p><p>Wanda, smiled. “Spider-Man is Tony’s favorrrrrrite.”</p><p>                          </p><p>“Not me,” Spidey said. “That title blondes to the psycho blonde.” He felt uncomfortable again, like an invader in a private club. “But no, I haven’t heard from him.”</p><p>                 </p><p>“Tone only texts me about memes. An’ I ain’t got a single pic from him today.” Hawkeye, the archer, looked up from his phone. “That really worries me.”</p><p>“Hey.” Spider-Man looked around. “Where’s Captain America?”                </p><p>“Called away. Top secret.” Falcon shrugged. “All he’d say.”                 </p><p>“Gotta be S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Hawkeye said. “It’s always S.H.I.E.L.D.”       </p><p>Nighthawk was staring at the TV screen. “Pension plans and annual vacation time? Are they trying to turn us into civil servants?”       </p><p>Luke Cage frowned. “I think they’re trying to close us down.”                  </p><p>“Or make us more legitimate,” Ms. Marvel replied. “Why shouldn’t we be better trained and publicly accountable?”                           </p><p>Patriot, leader of the Young Avengers, spoke up tentatively. “Somebody said we should go on strike if they mess with us. Does anybody think that’s a good idea?”                         </p><p>Reed Richards stepped forward, frowning. “I don’t think anyone here would seriously advocate a super hero strike.”                         </p><p>“Becoming public employees makes perfect sense,” Ms. Marvel continued, “if it helps people sleep easier.”                           </p><p>“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Goliath grew slightly, rising to eight feet in height, and all eyes turned to him. “The masks are a tradition. They’re part of who we are. We can’t just let the government turn us into super-cops.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why can’t they? I don’t like the idea of people knowing my identity, putting Aunt May at risk, putting Harley at risk. But Mr.Stark said that there’s no going back after Stanford, and I think he’s right.” interjected wanting to have his say too.</p><p> </p><p>He knew that he wasn’t the Young Avengers favorite person, he had respectfully turned down their offer to join a few months ago.</p><p> </p><p>“Well we’ve been on missions with Harley before,” Hulkling said, making sure to emphasize the H in Harley when he spoke. “And if he were here, he’d tell you how wrong you are to your face. The reason that we’re able to help so many people is because we're not cops, we don’t have to be slowed down by the pointless regulations that they follow, we don’t have to give people tickets to meet some quota. Our only priority is helping the everyday civilian walking the street and I don’t care what Tony or anybody else says, we shouldn’t change something that’s been working since Cap was in his 20s.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s eyes widened at the mention of Harley and the implication that he somehow didn’t know his boyfriend of three years. Three years was longer than some people had been married.</p><p> </p><p>“Harley is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D and I can tell you for a fact, he doesn't hand out speeding tickets and it’s rare he comes home complaining about the regulations that they require him to follow. And I would appreciate it, if you left him out of this.”</p><p>  </p><p>Awkward silence.</p><p>                  </p><p>Parker, Spidey thought, you sure know how to bring down a room.</p><p>                 </p><p>As the conversation slowly resumed, he slinked into a corner.</p><p> </p><p>“Quiet, everyone!”</p><p>                  </p><p>Spidey turned to see Reed Richards raising a remote control toward the screen. Below a stern-looking female reporter, a headline crawl read: BREAKING NEWS.</p><p>                          </p><p>“They’re about to announce the results of the vote.”</p><p>                  </p><p>The chatter of TV noise rose in the room, drowning out the speculation of two dozen costumed heroes. Wings rustled; drinks were placed down. Masks, eyes, and lenses all turned to stare up at the screen.</p><p>                           </p><p>The blank visage of Iron Man stared down at them, accompanied by the legend: AFTER THE REPORT: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH ANTHONY STARK, THE INVINCIBLE IRON MAN.</p><p>                           </p><p>Peter Parker, the amazing Spider-Man, felt yet another panic-twinge in his gut. Oh, Tony, he thought. Man, I hope you know what you’re doing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Captain America</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the carrier’s flight deck, Captain America watched an F-22 Raptor glide in for a landing. The sleek stealth plane dropped wheels at the last minute, skidding just slightly as it touched down..</p><p>                           </p><p>They just stopped making the F-22, Cap thought. He hoped the new models would perform as well. You never knew.</p><p>                           </p><p>He turned to peer down over the edge of the deck’s metal balcony, wind whipping at his face. Somewhere down below, Earth’s superheroes were gathering. But he couldn’t see the city. Too much cloud cover.</p><p>                           </p><p>“Cap? The director will see you now.”</p><p>                  </p><p>Armored S.H.I.E.L.D. agents led him inside, through high, gray-metal corridors dotted with window portals. Captain America’s duties had brought him to the Helicarrier many times before. But this time, something was different.</p><p>                           </p><p>It feels cold. Alien, almost.</p><p>                  </p><p>The corridor opened up into a wide room crisscrossed with walkways. No more windows. A woman stood facing him in full S.H.I.E.L.D. braid, with short-cropped hair and striking features. Two male agents flanked her, their hands held sidearms.</p><p> </p><p>“Captain,” the woman said.</p><p>                  </p><p>“Commander Hill.”</p><p>                  </p><p>She smiled, a cold reptile smile. “It’s Director now. Well, Acting Director.”</p><p>                           </p><p>Cap frowned. “Where’s Fury?”</p><p>                 </p><p>“I’m sorry to report that Director Fury has gone AWOL no one has seen or heard from him in months.”</p><p>                                                      </p><p>Cap felt a sick feeling in his stomach. Like Cap, Fury was just a man, but an extraordinary one. He’d been around at least as long as Cap, fought in even more wars, and had beaten the odds time and again.</p><p>                 </p><p>“I’m told that twenty-three of your friends are meeting in the Baxter Building right now to discuss the super-community’s reaction to the Superhuman Registration Act. What do you think they should do?”                 </p><p>         </p><p>“I...” Cap paused, startled by the abruptness of Hill’s question. “I don’t think that’s for me to say"</p><p> </p><p>“Cut the crap, Captain. I know you're tight with Fury, but I’m acting head of S.H.I.E.L.D. now. If nothing else, I expect you to respect the badge.”</p><p>                          </p><p>Captain America frowned, took in a long breath. Turned away briefly to gather his thoughts.</p><p>                           </p><p>“I think this plan will split us down the middle. I think you’re going to have us at war with one another. Isn’t commander Stark in charge of hero and S.H.I.E.L.D relations?”</p><p> </p><p>“Commander Stark is outside the country on a mission, when he gets back I’ll be sure to take whatever recommendations he has for My strategy.” </p><p>                           </p><p>“What’s the matter with these guys?” The one of the agents gestured at Cap. “How can anyone argue against super heroes being properly trained and paid for a living?”</p><p>                           </p><p>Cap turned sharply to Hill: Get your man in line? But she just looked to the other agent, the one with the mustache.</p><p>                           </p><p>“How many rebels do you estimate here, Captain?” the other asked.</p><p>                  </p><p>“If Registration becomes law? A lot.”        </p><p>         </p><p>“Any majors?” asked Hill.</p><p>                  </p><p>He frowned again. “Mostly the heroes who work close to the streets. Daredevil, maybe Iron Fist. I can’t be sure.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“So nobody you can’t handle.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“What?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“You heard me.”</p><p>                  </p><p>Involuntarily, Cap’s hand clenched into a fist. He slipped it behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>“The proposal has just passed the Senate,” Hill continued. “It’s done, Captain. The law will take effect in two weeks—which means we’re already behind schedule.” She gestured around at the Helicarrier, its cold gray walls. “We’re developing an anti-superhuman response unit here. But we need to make sure the Avengers are onboard, and that you’re out there leading the Avengers.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“You’re asking me to arrest people who risk their lives for this country, every day of the week.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“No, Captain. I’m asking you to obey the will of the American people.”</p><p>                  </p><p>More S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had filed in, he realized. Heavily armored men and women, in padded riot gear with thick visors. They gathered around Hill, and behind Cap as well. Surrounding him.</p><p>                          </p><p>“Don’t play politics, Hill. Super heroes need to stay above that stuff. We can’t have Washington telling us who the super villains are.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“I thought super villains were guys in masks who refused to obey the law.”</p><p>                  </p><p>Her finger barely twitched, but Cap caught the motion. Instantly, a dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents raised their weapons into position, rifles and lasers and tranq guns. One by one, they cocked their guns: Chik-Chak. Chik-Chak. Chik-Chak.</p><p>                  </p><p>All pointed at one man. A man with a flag on chest.</p><p> </p><p>Cap didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle. “Is this the hit squad you’ve been training to take down heroes?”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Nobody wants a war, Captain.” Hill gestured, tried to smile now. “The people are just sick and tired of living in the Wild West.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Masked heroes are a part of this country’s history.”</p><p>                                   </p><p>“Nobody’s saying you can’t do your job,” Hill said. “We’re just expanding its parameters, that’s all.”</p><p>                           </p><p>Captain America took a single step toward Hill. A dozen agents stepped forward in response. Slowly, Cap turned and addressed the circle of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. </p><p> </p><p>“Put your weapons down, guys.”</p><p>                          </p><p>“Captain America,” Hill said slowly, “is not in command here.” She stepped forward.</p><p>                                                     </p><p>“Weapons. Down,” Cap repeated. “Or I will not be responsible for what comes next.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Tranquilizers on. Get ready.”</p><p>                 </p><p>“This is insane, Hill.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“There’s an easy solution.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Damn you for this.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Damn you for making me do thi—”</p><p>                           </p><p>Cap jerked his arm up and out, ramming his shield into the agent’s rifle just as the man pulled the trigger. Cap leapt upward, pivoted in midair, and grabbed the second man's neck, twisting just hard enough to knock him off his feet. The man let out a strangled cry.</p><p> </p><p>“Tranquilizers!” Hill yelled. “NOW!”</p><p>                  </p><p>Cap grabbed the third agent by his riot gear, held him up in the air. The barrage of tranq capsules struck the agent full-on, shielding Cap for a crucial second. Then he flung the agent into his attackers and took off at a run.</p><p>                           </p><p>“Take him! Take him down!”</p><p>                           </p><p>He plowed through the line of agents, punching and battering, slapping their guns away and knocking the men off balance. Armor had its drawbacks; Cap was lighter, swifter than his enemies. He flung his impenetrable shield at a pair of attackers, slicing the tips off their guns. When it boomeranged back, he snatched it out of the air without looking.</p><p>                          </p><p>The one of the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that had been behind Hill stood before the corridor leading outside, blocking Cap’s way. Four more men backed him up, all armed with heavy rifles. These weren’t tranq guns. Not anymore.</p><p>                           </p><p>Cap raised his shield, and his mouth curled into a battle-grimace. “Don’t even think it, little man.”</p><p>                           </p><p>Then he charged, head down, his shield held straight out like a battering ram. He plowed into the agent, smashing the man’s jaw. He swung the shield to one side, then the other, toppling S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.</p><p>                           </p><p>“DIRECTOR HILL TO ALL UNITS.” The loudspeakers blared now, almost deafeningly.</p><p> </p><p>“STOP CAPTAIN AMERICA. I REPEAT: STOP CAPTAIN AMERICA!”</p><p>                  </p><p>Cap dashed out into the hallway, bullets whistling all around him. Shells, pulse beams, tranq capsules. He paused before a small window, holding his shield up behind him to block the fire.</p><p>                           </p><p>He waited, braced against the window, for a break in the fire. Inevitably, it came.</p><p>                  </p><p>Muscles honed in World War II coiled tight, and Captain America swiveled around and punched out the window with his shield. Then he leapt, out the window and into open air. A fresh barrage of bullets followed him; he twisted and dropped, surrendering his actions to pure survival instinct.</p><p>                           </p><p>The flight deck lay below, but that was no good; he’d be a sitting duck. He bounced off a gun mount and flipped himself upward, heading toward the upper levels of the Helicarrier. Grabbed for purchase on the outer wall, grasped a disused propeller, and swung himself up again.</p><p>                           </p><p>Below, a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents appeared in the shattered window. They looked around, sighted him, and fired upward.</p><p>                           </p><p>This is bad, he thought. Nowhere to run.</p><p>                 </p><p>Then he saw it: an old P-40 Warhawk, just arcing down toward the flight deck. A relic, just like him, miraculously still in service. It bore the. The P-40 must have been closing in for a landing when the shooting broke out. </p><p>                           </p><p>Cap leapt.</p><p>                  </p><p>He crashed down on top of the cockpit, shield first, shattering the glass. Pain shot up through his legs. The pilot flinched away, shook his head against the sudden wind. “JEEZUS!”</p><p>                  </p><p>Cap clamped a hand onto the man’s throat. “Keep flying. And watch your language.”</p><p>                  </p><p>The pilot nodded frantically, pulled up on the stick. The flight deck grew closer, faster and faster, then seemed to flatten out as the plane leveled off, less than twenty feet above the deck. The pilot kicked in the afterburners, and the plane began to rise.</p><p>                          </p><p>Cap staggered, almost toppled off. He held on, gritting his teeth. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents ran out onto the flight deck: two dozen, maybe three. They pointed upward, started squeezing off shots. But Cap’s plane was moving too fast. The pilot nosed it up farther, pulling up and away from the carrier. The flight deck slid past in a blur, and then they were out over open air.</p><p>                          </p><p>Cap glanced backward. The Helicarrier was shrinking into the distance. No doubt Hill was already scrambling pursuit planes, but he knew they’d be too late. Cap steadied himself atop the cracked cockpit, riding the plane like a surfer. He looked down just as the clouds parted…revealing the spires of Manhattan, the ocean and rivers surrounding it. The sea to the east, the mountains and farms and towns to the west.</p><p>                  </p><p>“Whe-whe-where are we going?” the pilot yelled.</p><p>                          </p><p>Cap leaned forward, into the wind. “America,” he said.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Law</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Heard anything from Captain America, Mister Stark?”</p><p>                 </p><p> Tony fidgeted, shifted the smartphone from hand to hand. He looked up at Happy, who sat opposite, hefting a seltzer water while leaning his bulky frame against the driver's barrier.</p><p>                          </p><p>He looks so...at ease, Tony thought. Will I ever feel that way again?</p><p>                  </p><p>“Nothing from Cap.” Tony frowned. “Hawkeye’s dropped out of sight too, and I can't raise Cage. I think Cap’s secretly putting together his own team.” He tossed the phone to Happy.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, Happy, I can’t look. Tell me how many heroes have registered.”</p><p>                  </p><p>Happy peered at the screen. “Looks like...thirty-seven. Wait, make that thirty-eight. Ms. Widow’s registration just came through.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Just like Natasha to make me sweat a little.” Tony took a deep breath. “Thirty-eight.”</p><p>                          </p><p>“That’s about what you expected, right?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Pretty much. Still...Hap, are the Fantastic Four’s forms in?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Just a sec...” Happy ran a thick finger down the screen, scrolling the display. “Yep, here they are. All four of ’em.”</p><p>                           </p><p>Well. That was something, at least.</p><p>                  </p><p>“Couple more just rolled in. Prob’ly not everyone’s gonna meet the deadline head-on.” Happy glanced at his watch. “Hey, it’s one minute till. We should do a New Year’s-style countdown?”</p><p>                           </p><p>“No.” Tony leaned back, closing his eyes tight. He kept them closed, squeezing till spots appeared. “I just hope we’re doing the right—”</p><p>                           </p><p>A loud sharp beeping filled the air, echoing off the limo’s walls. Tony snapped his eyes open just in time to see a startled Happy toss the smartphone up into the air, like a boiling pan of oil.</p><p>         </p><p>Tony grabbed the phone, stabbed at a mute button. “S.H.I.E.L.D. message,” he said. It was as if all tension had melted from his body and the problems of the day were gone, “Harley’s back.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>S.H.I.E.L.D. Mobile Command Center 3A was a high-tech hovercraft designed specifically for urban operations.</p><p>         </p><p>“Commander Harley Stark call sign, Taskmaster,” he broadcast. “REQUEST APPROVAL TO COME ABOARD.”</p><p>                           </p><p>The interior was dark, cramped, and crowded with surveillance screens. A real war room. Four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in full gear manned computer consoles.</p><p>                           </p><p>“Welcome back commander Stark and congratulations on a very successful mission but, before we get into your debriefing, you arrived just in time to watch us capture an unregistered minor,” Maria Hill said, pointing to a flatscreen. “Tried to foil a robbery in costume. A clear violation of the Act.”</p><p>                          </p><p>Harley peered at the screen. It showed a familiar young masked man, accompanied by one of his dads dossier entries:</p><p>         </p><p>         </p><p>Subject: Eli Bradley</p><p>Alias: PATRIOT</p><p>Affiliation: Young Avengers (unauthorized)                  </p><p>Powers: enhanced strength, agility; throwing stars</p><p>Power Type: inborn/artificial (hybrid)                           </p><p>Current Location: New York, NY</p><p> </p><p>Harley frowned. “Right I heard about the whole registration thing, you know Eli is someone that I consider to be a friend, where is he now?”</p><p>                  </p><p>Hill turned to an agent. “Friend or not he’s in violation of the law. Russell. The new holo display online yet?”</p><p>                 </p><p>“Yes ma’am.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Punch it up.”</p><p>                  </p><p>She motioned Harley back. In the center of the room, a three-dimensional image flickered to life: Patriot, scared and breathing hard, lit only by sporadic street lamps and roof lights. He ran and jumped for his life, making incredible leaps from the top of one high building to another.</p><p>                           </p><p>“This display is state of the art,” Hill said. “It uses ordinary cameras, but enhances—”</p><p>                  </p><p>“I know,” Harley waved a hand through the image; it didn’t even waver. “I helped my dad design it.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“We’ve got him,” the agent said. “NYPD surveillance cameras are locked on his heat signature. Foxtrot-Four is closing in, just a few blocks south of here.”</p><p>         </p><p>                  </p><p>On the image, a helicopter spotlight appeared in the air, just behind Patriot. He half-turned, a terrified look on his face. Then he sprinted away, even faster.</p><p>                           </p><p>Hill smiled.</p><p>                  </p><p>Harley frowned. He’d never been sure what to make of Hill; she struck him as someone in over her head who always tried to act like she knew what she was doing. They had never worked together but he had been informed by several reliable sources that she had tried her best to persuade Fury from promoting him to commander. The loss of Nick Fury had left a vacuum at the top of S.H.I.E.L.D., a dangerous thing in an organization charged with policing the entire free world. Hill had seen her chance and grabbed for it, but the real question would be</p><p> </p><p>Could she keep it.</p><p>                                    </p><p>“Hill as I understand it the Registration Act has been law for thirty-eight minutes. Shouldn’t you give Eli a little time?”</p><p>                </p><p>Hill raised an eyebrow at him. “First off, Stark, it’s Director now.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Acting Director, for now.”</p><p>                           </p><p>She glared at him. “Patriot and the Young Avengers—a group, I might add, that you allowed tacitly to be formed in the first place—have been tweeting all night against the Act.” She motioned to an agent, who called up a flat screen full of text. “Examples: ‘Death before unmasking.’ ‘Eff S.H.I.E.L.D. forever.’ ‘Tony Stark: One Percenter with a Heart of Stone.’” She smiled. “Bit of poetry in that one, I thought.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Director,” the agent said, “signal from Foxtrot-Four.”</p><p>                  </p><p>On the holo, Patriot made a massive leap up and across a dark gap between buildings. He scrambled and almost missed the roof, but grabbed hold and vaulted up. The copter circled around to intercept him, fanning its light across the roof. Harley could make out weapon-launchers mounted on both sides of it, just above its landing gear.</p><p>                           </p><p>The pilot’s crackling voice filled the Command Center. “Visual confirmation, S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC. I’m in position.”</p><p>                           </p><p>Hill stepped forward. “Roger that, Foxtrot-Four. Permission to use tranquilizers and minimum force.” She turned to Harley. “Satisfied?”</p><p>                           </p><p>He didn’t answer.</p><p> </p><p>A hail of capsules and rubber bullets rained down on Patriot’s running figure, ripping open the back of his jacket. He cried out, but kept moving.</p><p>                           </p><p>“No injury, S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC.”</p><p> </p><p>The agent turned to Hill, frowning. “This kid is bulletproof now?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Damn database,” a second agent said. “I thought we had people updating this thing.”</p><p>                  </p><p>“Patience, people.” Hill smiled again. “As Commander Stark says, we’ve been in this business for less than an hour.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Where is he going?” Harley asked. “He’s running out of island.”</p><p>                 </p><p>“According to our intel, the Young Avengers have a safe house right about…”</p><p>                  </p><p>Still pursued by the helicopter, Patriot launched himself off the side of another building. But this time he wasn’t aiming at a roof. He flailed in the air, then crashed straight into a plate glass window, shattering it. He let out a cry and tumbled inside the building.</p><p>                          </p><p>“…there,” Hill finished.</p><p>                 </p><p> “Switching to copter view,” the agent said.</p><p>                          </p><p>The image became a shaky down shot on Patriot, standing just inside the shattered window. The room looked dark, abandoned; Harley couldn’t make out any other figures.</p><p>                           </p><p>“Guys!” Patriot yelled. “We gotta get out of here! I was…I was breaking up a mugging for God’s sake, and now S.H.I.E.L.D.’s all over me!”</p><p>                           </p><p>“He’s in for a surprise,” Hill said. “We picked up the rest of the Young Avengers half an hour ago.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Actually, Wiccan’s still in the wind,” one of the agents said. “But local police have got a line on him.”</p><p>                          </p><p>“GUYS, THIS IS SERIOUS!” Patriot’s figure wobbled as the copter circled around the gap in the building. “S.H.I.E.L.D. IS COMING —THEY’RE NOT MESSING AROUND!”</p><p>                           </p><p>“Tranqs ineffective, S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC,” the copter pilot said. “And now I can’t get a bead on him.”</p><p>                           </p><p>Hill turned to an agent. “Is that building clear?”</p><p>                 </p><p>“Yes, ma’am. No life signs.”                 </p><p> </p><p>“Foxtrot-Four, you are cleared to escalate.”</p><p>                  </p><p>Harley turned to her, alarmed. “What does that—”</p><p>                 </p><p>The agent clicked back to a wide view. Twin incendiary missiles flashed out from the copter’s weapon-launchers, headed straight toward the building.</p><p>                           </p><p>The holo switched back to the copter’s camera again—just in time to capture Patriot’s terrified face. He stared straight at the camera, mouth open, as the missiles closed in on him.</p><p>                           </p><p>Then the building exploded. The framework shattered and the top three floors erupted up into the air, glass and metal flying everywhere. A cloud of dark ash filled the screen, blotting out the devastation.</p><p>                           </p><p> “What are you doing? Are you insane?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“That kid is practically indestructible. What do you expect?”</p><p>                  </p><p>“I expect you not to cause wanton property damage.” He gestured at the dust-cloud on the screen.</p><p>            </p><p>“The whole idea behind this is not to panic people!”</p><p>                           </p><p>“I suppose our methods differ.”</p><p>                </p><p>“If Eli is dead—”</p><p>                  </p><p>“He’s not.” The agent stabbed at his controls, and the holo flickered from static to dust and back again. “I can’t get a picture—NYPD cameras were knocked out by the blast. But Foxtrot-Four confirms: They’ve picked him up.”</p><p>                           </p><p>“This is wrong.” he said softly</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Peter and Harley At Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Harley returns home he finds Peter is fast asleep. Given how hectic their lives are it's a rare opportunity to study his boyfriend asleep. His lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep. His sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and his shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess. How could anyone look this good and still be legal? It’s tempting to reach out and touch him, but like a small child, he’s so lovely when he’s asleep.</p><p>                            </p><p>Slipping out of the bedroom, Harley found one of Peter’s  white shirts on the floor and shrugged it on. Walking through a door he enters his vast walk-in closet as big as most people's  bedrooms. Lines and lines of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties. “How can you need this many clothes?” Peter had asked him one time. It was a fair question Harley liked to think that he had escaped the arrogance and entitlement that sometimes came with being the son of a billionaire, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a materialistic person. </p><p>                            </p><p>Returning to the bedroom, Peter was still asleep. Harley’s next stop was the bathroom again, it's bigger than most people's  bedrooms. Why does one man need so much space? <em> Because penthouses in New York City are hard to come by and when I saw this place for sale I knew that it would be perfect for me, plus Peter has never lived like this so I decided to introduce him to the high life. </em>         </p><p>         </p><p>He’s starving. Heading  back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so Harley leaves him and heads for the kitchen.</p><p>         </p><p>Their kitchen is sleek and modern, none of the cupboards had handles. It would normally take guests a few seconds to deduce that you have to push the cupboard doors to open them. Checking  in the fridge, where there were plenty of eggs, and decided he wanted pancakes and bacon.         </p><p>         </p><p>Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply. Music blaring in his ears also helps to stave off deep thought. He would have time later to think about the Superhuman Registration Act and what it meant for his future employment.     </p><p>                   </p><p>         </p><p>It’s a liberating feeling to mindlessly  put the bacon under the grill, and while it’s cooking, whisk some eggs. </p><p> </p><p>He turns, and Peter is sitting on one of the barstools at the breakfast bar, leaning on it, his face supported by his steepled hands. He’s still wearing the T-shirt he slept in. Bed hair really, really suits him. He looks both amused and bewildered.</p><p>                            </p><p>“Harls when did you get back?”        </p><p>         </p><p>“Few hours ago had to make a stop before I came home.”</p><p>                   </p><p>Arms wrapped around the blondes waist. “I missed you...a lot.”</p><p>         </p><p>“I missed you too now,” he playfully swatted at Peter until he was released. “Sit back down, breakfast is almost ready, you hungry?           </p><p>         </p><p>“Very,” he says with an intense look, and I don’t think he’s referring to food.        </p><p>        </p><p> “Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?”</p><p>                 </p><p> “Sounds great.”</p><p>                   </p><p>“Where did you put the placemats?”</p><p>                            </p><p>“I’ll get them. You cook. Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue your…er…dancing?”</p><p>                                              </p><p>“Please, don’t stop on my account. It’s very entertaining.” His tone is one of wry amusement.</p><p>                            </p><p>“Fuck you, Parker” and with that he returned his attention to the food. He was a good cook, you had to be in order to survive in some of the conditions that he had been forced to endure in order to complete certain missions. Peter on the other hand, was a terrible cook. This was a man who had burned spaghetti.</p><p> </p><p>Finished cooking, Harley carried the plates of eggs, pancakes, and pancakes to where Peter had set things up. </p><p> </p><p>“So, how was it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Peter, you know that I can’t talk about missions with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually,” Peter jumped from his stool running to where a pair of his jeans had been thrown across the living room couch. Retrieving a plastic card from one of the back pockets he returned to Harley, a bright smile on his face. “I registered a few days ago, so you can officially tell me about your missions now.”</p><p> </p><p>Harley didn’t know what to say, he sat there for a few seconds collecting his thoughts. He was proud of Peter for doing what he thought was right, but he was also carrying the weight of what was happening to those who had not registered, people who were his friends. </p><p> </p><p>How could he be happy with Peter complying with a law that he felt was amoral with every fiber of his being.</p><p> </p><p>“Harls, you're not saying anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what to say.” he mumbled out softly.</p><p>Concern etched across the features of Peter’s face. “Harls...are you crying.” he reached out and wiped a few stray tears from beneath sad eyes. “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing,” he sniffled, reigning in his wayward emotions. It was beneath someone of his rank to cry from something as silly as a difference of opinion. “I’ve just had a rough few months, being out on assignment for so long. I just need some rest.”</p><p> </p><p>“Harley you’ve been gone way longer than this, and never had I seen you so upset. Did something happen, Did something happen to Bucky?”</p><p> </p><p>“No he’s fine, probably out looking for Steve.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you two under orders to bring Cap in?” </p><p> </p><p>Harley bristled at the question, the idea that he would arrest the very man who had helped train him was ludicrous. “Technically yes, but if they think that I’m going to have ‘arrested Captain America’ on my record they have another thing coming.”</p><p> </p><p>“Harls...are you okay with it...the Registration Act. Is that why you got upset when I showed you my card, I know that you're close with the Young Avengers and none of them have registered yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to talk about that here, you know I hate bringing work home with me. You're an Avenger and I’m an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, we both have jobs to do, and we both do them to the best of our abilities, but you know the rule we leave all that at the front door.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know I just don’t want us to end up on opposite sides of this thing.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Changing Of The Guard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Leaving the White House after his first state visit, the new President of France Jacques Pompidou asked a policeman, “Where is the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D?”. The President of France had come to the United States to express the universal concerns European countries had with the Superhuman Registration Act, specifically the involvement of S.H.I.E.L.D enforcing it. The Americans tended to forget that S.H.I.E.L.D was an international agency not another FBI that they could use to enforce their laws. While it was tradition for whoever was President of the United States to pick the director of S.H.I.E.L.D, it certainly was not law. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As he rode in his motorcade he jotted down notes on what he thought wrong with the S.H.I.E.L.D: “filled with men with bad records…many convicted of crimes…organization lawless…many activities without any authority in international laws…agents engaged in many practices which are brutal and tyrannical in the extreme…Helmont Frankfurter(Chancellor of Germany)  says key to the problem is leadership…I agree.”In the months leading up to his visit to Washington Jacques had began asking around for suggestions as to whom should be picked as Hill’s replacement. “I don’t know whom to trust,” he confided to his chief of staff, “I don’t know any of these people.” Many of his fellow European  leaders mentioned one name, Stark. Stark was a name Jacques heard quite frequently, and not, one suspects, always by accident, although not all recommended him, “Many people thought Harley Stark too young a man,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The best advice the French President had received was from his wife, who was a member of the United Nations human rights committee. As a result of S.H.I.E.L.D being the police force for the world at large she had often come in contact with members of leadership. While Fury himself never never attended a committee meeting; he always made sure to send someone to represent S.H.I.E.L.D and report on the agency's efforts to improve its own human rights efforts. Agents who attended on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D felt that committee was a waste of their time, and there was substance to that argument since the committee didn’t have any real power. But Harley had been one of the few agents to actually take the time to read the recommendations of the committee prior to the meeting, a fact that did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One morning Jacques asked his wife what she thought of Harley. She told him she regarded him as “honest and informed” and said that he operated “like an electric wire, with almost trigger response.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone says he’s too young,” the president told her, “but maybe that’s his asset. Apparently he hasn’t learned to be afraid of politicians, and I believe he would set up a group of young men as investigators and infuse them with a will to operate independent of political pressure.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jacques had been sold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The French President summoned Harley Stark to meet him. The young commander had no idea why the French President had asked to see him, nor why the man had asked that the meeting details be kept private even before they discussed anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Entering the office, Harley was struck by two things: even seated behind the desk, the French President looked immense. Jacques was almost six feet 5 inches, and weighed well over 250 pounds. And he was scowling at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Young man,” Jacques said abruptly, “I and a number of my European colleagues want you to be Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harley responded, “Is the US on board with this, sir?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want the job or not Commander Stark!” Jacques asked, deep voice vibrating through the small office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take the job, President Jacques, on certain conditions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are they?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S.H.I.E.L.D must be divorced from politics, appointments must be based on merit. Second, promotions will be made on proven ability and S.H.I.E.L.D will be responsible to the United Nations security council, not the President of The United States or any other world leader, present company included.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t give it to you under any other conditions,” the President of France replied. “But I won’t lie to you, I went to the White House a few hours ago to discuss your nomination with your President, and he’s not on board. A group of us France, Germany, Britain, Sweden, Norway, Italy, China, and Russia tonight, are going to be taking the unprecedented step of rejecting Maria Hill’s nomination and selecting you as Director. As I’m sure you can imagine, This will not make you very popular in the White House.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand, sir,” Harley firmly acknowledged. “But I have to ask why me and not Hill? she’s acting Director and by all indications Fury’s handpicked successor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I respect that the Superhuman Registration Act is the law here in the United States, but I and many leaders around the world consider it to be an illegal law, worse a violation of basic human rights. To have S.H.I.E.L.D, an agency that serves the world enforcing such a law is a violation of the international agreements that the agency was founded on. I am correct in assuming that you oppose the act?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then you're the right man for the job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony Stark’s limo held every type of soft drink known to man. Cola, diet cola, orange,grape; fruit punch and Gatorade, eight kinds of vitamin water. Regular and decaf, plus dangerously over caffeinated tipples from South America. Sculpted glass bottle adorned with Japanese characters, each sealed with a single marble. Vintage brands like Jolt, Patio, and New Coke, scavenged from warehouses all over the world.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The drinks sat above a trough of crushed ice, staring out at Tony like a row of glass and metal eyes. And not one of them was what he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Distract yourself, he thought. He clicked on the TV, and a coiffed blonde appeared above a cable news logo.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The headline read: HARLEY STARK PICKED TO BE NEW DIRECTOR OF S.H.I.E.L.D</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tony,” Happy said, handing him his phone. “It’s Director Hill.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maria?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stark what the fuck is going on, you’re son is trying to steal my job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“European and Asian leaders tonight are expected to officially vote to confirm Harley Howard Stark as just the second Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Sources inside the White House are saying that the President feels, quote ‘betrayed’ by this move to subvert what has been 20 years of unquestioned leadership of S.H.I.E.L.D”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think trying is the right word Hill,” he pulled up Peter’s contact from his phone. “Listen Hill I’m going to have to call you back, I’m going to try and figure out exactly what is going on here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sources from insider S.H.I.E.L.D say that Acting Director Maria Hill was blindsided by the move, she had apparently been given assurances by the White House that the position was going to be hers. The divide between the White House and world leaders seems to be over S.H.I.E.L.D’s controversial role enforcing the Superhuman Registration Act.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Calm Before A Huge Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The prelude to the events that will lead to a full scale superhuman civil war.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter Parker had grown accustomed to surprsises, you had to if you were going to be a member of the Avengers. He had grown used to being woken in the early hours of the day because Tony needed him for a mission, or those long night patrols when crime in the city was particularly bad. He had accepted the fact that people would always be running in and out of he and Harley’s apartment but, he had never expected to come home at 11pm to the sound of construction coming from there home. </p><p> </p><p>The buzz of drills </p><p> </p><p>The constant Thumps of hammers being slammed</p><p> </p><p>The sight of men wearing orange construction vests and white hard hats coming in and out the front door.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me,” he said, wedging himself against the wall to avoid walking into three men carrying cans of paint into the apartment. Inside the apartment was just as chaotic as the outside, the furniture was covered with white tarp, people were going up and down the stairs, and the piano had been moved. At the center of the chaos was a familiar blonde barking out order at all the workers. </p><p> </p><p>Peter approached her tentatively. “Uhh agent Carter, what’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>Sharon Carter is a complicated subject among the avengers, she was Cap's girlfriend or friend with benefits or well no one actually knew what they were before Steve finally found the internal fortitude to express his long standing feelings for one Bucky Barnes. You would think that things would have been awkward between Cap and Shanon and they were, but that was because Cap was awkward with anything the slightest bit sexual however her relationship with the rest of the Avengers were friendly.</p><p> </p><p>That still didn’t explain why she was in the middle of his apartment and why men were running all manner of wires through the walls.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Peter, good to see you,” she said, temporarily taking her eyes off the work being done. “Just installing some additional security, Harley is determined that he’s going to keep living here as Director so we're going to need to make this place as secure as possible.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh right,” there it was, the reason that Peter had stayed out on patrol a few hours more than he needed to, Harley's promotion.</p><p> </p><p>He was dating the next Director of S.H.I.E.L.D and he had no idea what that was going to mean for their relationship.</p><p> </p><p>“Where did Fury stay?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a great question, I have no idea.” She pondered the question in deep thought for a few moments but then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth dwelling on.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around and was unable to find his boyfriend among the workers. “Where’s Harley?”</p><p> </p><p>She pointed to the staircase. “He’s in you guys room, talking to the President.” she said it so calmly as if his boyfriend wasn’t talking to the leader of the free world. Was this going to be their life now, major world leaders calling at all hours of the night.</p><p> </p><p>He contemplated these questions as he made his way up the stairs and down the hall to where their bedroom was located. </p><p> </p><p>“Well like I said, I can’t force Hill to stop enforcing the registration act Mr. President,” Harley turned around when he heard the door open, when he saw Peter he smiled at him. “But when I officially take over as director I won’t be using agents to arrest people because they haven’t registered with the federal government, you're going to have to find someone else to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter couldn’t make out what the President was saying, but whatever he was saying he was yelling at Harley. If Harley was bothered by what the President was saying he didn’t show it.</p><p> </p><p>“I understand that Director Hill agreed that S.H.I.E.L.D would be the primary enforcement but the reality of the situation is the rest of the world doesn't want S.H.I.E.L.D involved and our lawyers just wrote a memo that we’ll be forwarding to the White House, they say that there is a very real risk that the Superhuman Registration Act is in violation of the United Nations universal declaration of human rights, and thus illegal for S.H.I.E.L.D to enforce.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter made to leave the room so that Harley could continue his conversation in private, but before he could turn to leave Harley stopped him with a rapid wave of his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. President, it's late, I have some things that I need to get done. Why don’t we continue this in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause on the other line.</p><p> </p><p>“Ok talk to you tomorrow, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Harley,” Peter asked, wrapping his arms around the blonde's waist. “Did you just rush the President of the United States off the phone?” he asked, panic in his voice. This was completely uncharted territory.</p><p> </p><p>Harley merely shrugged before wrapping his arms around Peter's neck, staring intently into his eyes. “Course I did, you think I’m going to spend all night talking to that guy when I have a super hot boyfriend here that I haven’t seen all day.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter wants to respond, to tell Harley that it's wrong for him to be rude to the President. But Harley is peppering his neck with kisses, and all thoughts leave his mind because Harley is very good at distracting him.</p><p> </p><p>But they really needed to talk.</p><p> </p><p>“Harley,” he said gently, pulling away from his boyfriend. “What’s going on? One minute you're on missions with Bucky and the next thing I know your Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”</p><p> </p><p>Harley let out a huff of frustration at the loss of contact. “Well obviously I can’t share everything with you but basically it comes down to the fact that leaders around the world don’t want S.H.I.E.L.D enforcing a US law that they see as illegal,” in a rare break of character he looked bewildered. “Hill wasn’t the answer so they picked me.”</p><p> </p><p>“What does that mean for us?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” he closed the gap with Peter, once again wrapping his arms around the other man's neck. “It means that I won’t be going on missions anymore, no more disappearing for months on end. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be able to work from home more.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter lets his hand wander down Harley’s back, even though the blonde is wearing a shirt that's tight and doesn't hide the strong back muscles that come with S.H.I.E.L.D training. He likes how warm Harley always seems to be, no matter what the temperature is outside he knows when he comes home he has a warm boyfriend to cuddle with.</p><p> </p><p>His hand trails down further, until he reaches his target and gently cups one of Harley's cheeks. Another pleasant surprise of S.H.I.E.L.D training is the amount of lower body work that Harley has done. His legs are thick and strong, Peter isn’t ashamed to say that he’s found himself sporting a stiffy during those rare moments when the two of them have time for a sparring session and Harley gains the upper hand wrapping his trunks around Peter’s waist and squeezing full force. But for all the compliments that he can give to Harley’s legs it's his ass that’s the real star of the show. Plump and jiggly, Peter loves to just watch Harley walk around the house in his underwear and see the blondes cheeks bounce with every step.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Focus Parker </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t get me wrong I would love having you around more,” as a show of his earnestness he gives Harley ass a little squeeze. “But Mr.Stark says that the Superhuman Registration Act is an important part of rebuilding the public's trust in the Superhuman community after Stanford.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really, you going to stand here and call my dad, Mr. Stark, while we're in the mood! Are you trying to kill my boner, because that’s what you're doing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop changing the subject.”</p><p>With a roll of his eyes Harley addresses Peter’s point. “This doesn't change tha act, it just means that under me S.H.I.E.L.D won’t be involved in hunting people down like animals, just because they refused to reveal to every actual real criminal in the world who they are. Do I have to remind you of the numerous kidnapping attempts I’ve been the target of just because my dad is Iron Man and people want his tech.”</p><p> </p><p>That was a good point</p><p> </p><p>“Look,” Harley pressed forward even closer, breath hot in Peter’s ear. “I know you're worried, but trust me as long as no one does anything crazy this whole registration act thing will just blow over.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> As long as no one day anything crazy </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Great Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“MOBILE Bus One, we got him. The witch-kid’s down.”<br/>                                    <br/>At the sound of Director Hill’s voice, Captain America’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He spoke quietly: “Location?”<br/>                                    <br/>“Brooklyn Bridge.”<br/>                        <br/>The badge on Cap’s stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform read: Agent Lamont. Thankfully, Maria Hill didn’t seem to have recognized his voice.<br/>                                    <br/>Cap glanced over at the burly agent in the passenger seat—Axton, that was his name. He sat tense in his full armor, smiling.<br/>                                    <br/>“’At the last one,” Axton said.<br/>                        <br/>“Hang on.”<br/>            <br/>Cap wrenched the wheel around as hard as he could. S.H.I.E.L.D. Mobile Bus One an eight-ton urban paddy wagon with Adamantium-reinforced holding walls lit up in a glare of lights and sirens. It swung around in a U-turn through the crowded intersection,its bulk straining against the force, passenger-side wheels rising up off the pavement. Then it settled down with a low crunch and took off at full speed, heading south down West Street.<br/>                                                <br/>“S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC, this is Bus One,” Cap said carefully. “Moving in for pickup.”<br/>                       <br/>“Roger, Bus One. It’s a mess down there, but we’ll have the locals clear you a path.”<br/>                        <br/>“Alright. This is what I’m talkin’ about.” Axton leaned forward, called up a dossier photo of the Young Avengers on the dashboard computer screen. “Patriot, Hulkling, Stature, Speed. Speed? That’s a hero name?”<br/>                        <br/>Cap blasted the siren again. A minivan skittered to the side of the road, making way.<br/>                        <br/>“These kids,” Axton continued. “They’re what sixteen years old? Seventeen, tops? And they’re out there in their pantyhose laughing in our faces. Time somebody taught ’em a lesson.”<br/>                                    <br/>A green sign appeared, big white arrow labeled: TO BROOKLYN BRIDGE. Cap pulled hard left, steering the bus onto Lincoln Street.<br/>                                    <br/>Up ahead, he could see flashing lights. Echo of sirens in the night.<br/>                        <br/>“It’s not like we’re banning ’em, man. Nobody’s stopping these punks from doing their thing. Government’s even paying these clowns to go official now. But you know something? They don’t want that. They don’t get a buzz off bein’ legit. Freaks get off on the masks an’ all that ‘mystery man’ crap. And if you ask me, Commander Stark is just like em, always running off to spend time with that psycho Winter Soldier. ”<br/>                                    <br/>To the right, a squad of lit-up cop cars blocked the ramp leading to the Brooklyn Bridge. Cap slowed, moving in. A gray-haired police captain signaled to his men, and the cars broke ranks, opening a lane.<br/>                                    <br/>Axton was still talking. “Gonna be one cold shower when they see the new pen they're building for these super-creeps. Frank in supplies says it messes with your head, makes it so you can’t even think about escaping.”<br/>                                    <br/>The bus lurched over a pothole, bumping between the line of police, up onto the bridge. The two lanes heading into Brooklyn had been cleared. Up ahead, Cap could just make out a small figure lying in the middle of the road, surrounded by another pair of police cars.<br/>                                    <br/>Wiccan. Last of the Young Avengers.<br/>                        <br/>“Tranq’d,” Axton said. “Hope it hurt the little creep. My sister used to date a superhero, you know. Thought he was pretty hot stuff.”<br/>                                    <br/>The bus approached Wiccan, an unconscious teenage boy in gray. Tattered red cape around his neck. Cops stood in a semicircle around his body, their guns drawn and pointed.<br/>                                    <br/>“No real powers, though. Turbo, I mean. Always wanted to get him alone when he took off that power-suit I woulda given him the swirly of his life. Hey man, shouldn't you slow down a little?”<br/>                                    <br/>“You know something, Axton?”<br/>                        <br/>Cap pulled the wheel around again, and Axton slammed against the far door. Cap thumbed the door-lock open and kicked out sideways, aiming carefully for Axton’s arm. The agent’s elbow jabbed into the door-latch, clicking it open and Axton tumbled out of the moving vehicle.<br/>                                    <br/>“You talk too much,” Cap said.<br/>                        <br/>Screaming, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent rolled to the pavement, narrowly missing Wiccan’s prone body. The row of cops drew back, startled.<br/>                                    <br/>Cap thumbed a hidden transceiver in his lapel to life. “Falc,” he called. “Extraction. NOW!”<br/>                        <br/>Falcon’s reply was drowned out by a flood of swearing on the S.H.I.E.L.D. frequency. “S.H.I.E.L.D.-TAC,” Axton’s voice yelled, “Mobile Bus One has been compromised!”<br/>            <br/>Should have hit him harder, Cap thought.                                    <br/>In the rearview mirror, Cap saw a blur of red-and-white flash down out of the EXO-7 Falcon. Nine-foot wings spread wide, scattering the cops. The locals squeezed off a few quick shots, but Falcon was already airborne again, carrying the unconscious Wiccan in his arms.<br/>                                                <br/>“Got ’im,” Falcon’s voice said.<br/>                        <br/>Cap frowned, jabbed at the S.H.I.E.L.D. radio. Silence. They’d changed frequencies, locking him out of the conversation.<br/>                                    <br/>The road ahead was clear—the cops had blocked it off from both ends. “Falc, where are you?”<br/>                                    <br/>“’Bout fifteen feet above your head.”<br/>                        <br/>Cap glanced in the rearview mirror. The cops were pointing and aiming their guns upward, trying to get a bead on the soaring, dodging Falcon.<br/>                                   <br/>Then another flash of lights caught his attention. Up ahead, on the Brooklyn side of the bridge, two more NYPD cars loomed into view, bearing down on him fast. Lights and sirens flashing.<br/>                                    <br/>“Stay with me, Falc.”<br/>                        <br/>Cap floored the accelerator, sending the bus shooting straight toward the two newcomers. Too late, the cop cars swerved, tried to get out of the way.<br/>                                    <br/>Cap gritted his teeth.<br/>                        <br/>Mobile Bus One struck the first police car straight on, shattering its headlights. The cops flew out of each door, landing roughly on the pavement. They watched, horrified, as the Bus’s huge wheels ground slowly up over the car’s hood, smashing its windshield, crushing its engine clear down to the pavement. The Bus bumped, lurched, and squashed the cop car flat.<br/>            <br/>The other car skidded to a stop. The driver leaned out the window, fired off a few shots. They bounced harmlessly off the back of the Bus.</p><p>Cap was on his way.</p><p>“No sleep till Brooklyn,” Falcon’s voice said.</p><p>Cap frowned. “Is that a poem?”<br/>                        <br/>Then he saw them, up ahead. Big flashing lights, bigger than the locals’ cherrytop signals. S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles, dropping down out of the sky to intercept.<br/>            <br/>He glanced in the mirror again. The NYPD cops, the ones who’d captured Wiccan, were on the move again. Closing in fast.<br/>            <br/>The new security state, Cap thought. It’s efficient, that’s for sure.<br/>                       <br/>“Cap,” Falcon said, “you got locals behind and S.H.I.E.L.D. up ahead. I dunno about you, but I only see two ends to this bridge.”<br/>                                    <br/>Cap grimaced, thumbed the Bus’s computer screen to life. Scrolled quickly through a series of dossier entries, then jabbed down on one:                           <br/>Subject: William “Billy” Kaplan<br/>Aliases: WICCAN<br/>Group Affiliation: Young Avengers (unauthorized)<br/>Powers: Probability-based magick; teleportation<br/>Power Type: inborn<br/>Current Location: New York<br/>               <br/>Three copters, another Bus, and yes, that was Mobile Command Center 3A itself. Hovering Just above the first exit in Brooklyn.<br/>            <br/>Maria Hill’s voice filled the cabin. “Surrender, Captain. You’ve got nowhere to run.”They weren’t even moving to intercept. There was no hurry; they knew they had him.<br/>                        <br/>“Falc,” Cap said. “Is Billy conscious?”<br/>                      <br/>“Unfortunately. He just woke up, started screamin’.”<br/>                        <br/>“Change of plans. Rendezvous with me— NOW.”<br/>            <br/>“With you?”<br/>            <br/>Cap glanced over at the passenger’s side door. It still flopped loose, following Axton’s ungraceful exit.<br/>            <br/>“Door’s open.”<br/>           <br/>Ground troops stood blocking the exit now, cocking and loading their weapons. They formed a full line, with the copters hovering right above. Rifles glinted from the copter doorways.<br/>            <br/>Cap’s eyes flashed forward, then to the right; forward again, then right and this time he saw the white flash of the Falcon’s wings. Falcon grunted in midair, shifted the struggling Wiccan to his right arm, and reached out to grab the door handle.<br/>            <br/>“Hold ’er steady, will you?”<br/>                        <br/>Then they were inside the cabin. Wiccan was whimpering and flailing around. Falcon glared at him, reached over to slam the door shut.<br/>            <br/>“Billy,” Cap said forcefully.<br/>           <br/>Wiccan looked up at him and shut up.<br/>                        <br/>Falcon gasped for breath, folded his wings expertly behind his back. Then he grimaced, pointed at the road ahead. “That is one metric truck-load of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.”</p><p>“Billy,” Captain America repeated. “We need an extraction. Do you know what that means?”<br/>                       <br/>Wiccan just stared at him with terrified eyes.<br/>                        <br/>“Your teammates are in the back of this vehicle,” Cap continued. “All of them: Patriot, Hulkling, Stature, and Speed. I can’t get them, or us, out of this alone. I need your help.”</p><p>Cap pulled up a map of Manhattan on the cabin’s video screen. He jabbed a finger in one particular spot, and a red circle appeared next to the word Chelsea.They were drawing closer to the S.H.I.E.L.D line. A dozen high-powered rifles flashed red laser-dots, zeroing straight in on the Bus.<br/>            <br/>“We need a teleportation spell,” Cap said, pointing to the map. “And we need it now.”<br/>                        <br/>“Y-yes, sir.”<br/>            <br/>Wiccan started muttering to himself, eyes wide. He seemed thoroughly traumatized.<br/>            <br/>Up above, S.H.I.E.L.D. copters buzzed forward, filling the sky with noise. The sun was beginning to rise, the first glow of light showing on the horizon. “It’s got to be now, Billy,” Cap said.<br/>                        <br/>The first shot blasted out from a handheld S.H.I.E.L.D. cannon. It struck jolting the vehicle, slowing it just a tiny bit. A hairline crack appeared in the windshield.<br/>            <br/>“Somewhereelse,” Wiccan was whispering. “Iwanttobesomewhereelse IwanttobesomewhereelseI…”</p><p>“Captain, Harley can’t save you right now” Maria Hill’s voice was faint, crackly.<br/>Then a bright blue glow seemed to rise within the cabin. Cap glanced right, and saw the kid—Wiccan—glowing with energy. Falcon shrank back, stunned. The blue glow expanded outward, filling the small compartment.</p><p>“I want to be somewhere else.” Wiccan’s voice was clearer, louder now.<br/>            <br/>Cap leaned forward. The bridge, the road, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents ahead…all seemed to glow, to flare bright with that same blue radiance. Everything flashed once, then faded from view.</p><p>For a long moment, all Cap could see was that blinding blue light. Pulsing, shining, so bright it burned the eyes. Then the light seemed to thin out into a dozen strands, all radiating outward from the central core. The dozen became a hundred, a thousand, and then a thousand thousand beams of light, each pointed outward toward a different point in space.<br/>            <br/>Probabilities, he realized.</p><p>And then he was falling, tumbling outward away from the light-core, toward one of the strands. One single destination, out of millions.</p><p>“…somewhere else,” Wiccan’s faint voice said.</p>
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